


If Only He Was My Perfect Match

by discorporating



Category: Are You the One? (TV), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Boom Boom Room, Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Drama, F/M, First Meetings, Hastur is a girl, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), I Don't Even Know, M/M, Misunderstandings, My First AO3 Post, No beta we fall like Crowley, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Uriel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discorporating/pseuds/discorporating
Summary: What happens when you match up 16 eligible singles, then put them in a luxurious mansion filled with booze? Chaos. Pure chaos.Or:Aziraphale really didn’t want to be a reality TV star, but when he heard that his favorite American show, Are You The One?, was coming to England, he couldn’t help but sign up. With an assigned perfect match and a million dollars on the line to find her, Aziraphale can’t get distracted. When a gorgeous red-headed man is introduced as one of the contestants, however, Aziraphale learns just how tempting a distraction can be.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	1. Season 9, Episode 1 — The Introduction

The stage was set. The cameras were rolling. Season 9 of the reality TV show Are You The One? was about to start, this time set in London, England.

The host of the show, Terrence J, burst onto the stage, flaunting his signature smile at the cameras. “Hello everyone! Welcome to England and Season 9 of Are You The One! This season on Are You The One?, we’re shaking things up! We’ve gotten singles from around London and from America that just can’t seem to find love. They’ve completed interviews, questionnaires, heck, even a consultation with a relationship coach just for the hope of finding their perfect match! We think we’ve found everyone’s soulmate… but will they come to the same conclusion?”

The stage doors open and sixteen men and women run out. A red-head crosses his arms, clearly annoyed. A blonde man blushes self-consciously, not used to all the attention. A few others wave at the camera, while the rest train their eyes on the vast studio audience, who cheer with delight.

After the cheers die down, Terrence turns to the contestants. “As you know from previous seasons, we aren’t going to tell you your perfect match. Instead, you will be going on group dates for the next ten weeks, as well as single dates, in order to figure that out for yourself. At the end of each week, there will be a matchup ceremony where you have to pair up with who you think is your perfect match. There will be a beam of light for each match you get right, but we won’t tell you who you got correct and who you got wrong. If you get all eight matches right by the end of the ten weeks, you will win one million dollars!” He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Oy. Can we get on with it then?” the red-head jeers with a heavy British accent. Terrence looks at him disapprovingly.

“Right. I guess we’ll just have to find out… if your perfect match was right in front of you, would you even know it?”

“And cut!” the director says in the background. “Great job Terrence.”

Terrence smiles. “It’s what I do.”

A few minutes later, the entire cast had shuffled onto the set—a gorgeous mansion packed with pool tables, ball pits, and, of course, the infamous Boom Boom Room. The shy blonde-haired man, Aziraphale, looked around nervously. He really didn’t want to be here, but his friend at home, Tracy, practically forced him to audition. He highly doubted he would find his soulmate here, but maybe a good friend?

“I guess we should be getting on with introductions,” a young woman suggested. Her hair was a bit messy, and she wore thick glasses. “I’ll start. My name is Anathema, and as you can tell by my accent, I’m American! I am really into the mystic arts, and as a hobby I like to practice witchcraft.”

A man in a silver suit wrinkled his nose at that. “You know that stuff isn’t real, right? The only magic in this world comes from the Almighty.”

Anathema huffed. “And who might you be?”

The man smiled cockily. “I’m _Gabriel_ ,” he said haughtily, “I suppose you can call me American. I don’t really see the need in hobbies, not when there’s work to be done.”

“Oh c’mon, you must do _something_!” someone interrupted. Aziraphale turned to the source and nearly stopped breathing. There, right in front of him, was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He had hair the color of fire and was decked in all black with jeans that were much too tight, yet somehow he pulled it off. How could Aziraphale not stare?

Gabriel rolled his grey eyes. “And I suppose you’re Mr. Party Man, then?”

“Ehh. You could say that…” he trailed off, noticing Aziraphale’s stare. The blonde blushed and turned away. “Well, anyways. I’m Anthony, but I prefer the name Crowley. I like causing mischief… and plants.” Aziraphale smiled a bit at that. How unique!

Soon, everyone had introduced themselves. Aziraphale didn’t know which woman was supposed to be his perfect match yet, as Anathema, Beelzebub (nicknamed Bee), Dagon, Michaela, Wanda (she preferred to be called War, apparently), Uriel, Hastur, and Polly all didn’t seem like his type. He supposed Anathema was likable enough, but Michaela and Uriel were too stuck up for his taste while Bee, Dagon, War, Hastur, and Polly seemed mean-spirited. And really, even if they _were_ his type, how could he focus on them when the brilliant specimen known as Anthony Crowley was standing only a few feet away? If only he had gone on the show last season, when gender didn’t matter! Unfortunately, this season was straight again, which meant he had no hope of ever finding his ‘perfect match’ in a man.

“Great job on the intros everyone, now go outside to the pool and get chatting!” the director ordered. Aziraphale sighed. He hated swimming. He was self-conscious of his body already, he definitely didn’t want random strangers, not to mention the viewers at home, to see him topless. He lagged behind the rest of the group, dragging his feet.

“Hey? Aziraphale, was it?” someone asked. Aziraphale looked up and gasped. Crowley had noticed he wasn’t at the pool and had come to check on him!

“Yup. That’s me.”

“What’s up? Why aren’t you going to the pool?”

Aziraphale averted his eyes. “I just- well. I just don’t like swimming is all.”

Crowley smiled teasingly. “Lemme guess, all you want to do is curl up and read a book?”

“I _am_ a bookshop owner after all. Not that I sell any books…”

The red-head looked at him incredulously. Even though they were covered with dark sunglasses, Aziraphale could tell his eyes had widened. “You’re a bookseller who doesn’t sell books. Bit of an oxymoron, eh?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well. I can’t give just anyone a first edition copy. They wouldn’t even know how to treat it correctly!”

Crowley laughed. “Of course they wouldn’t.” He sighed. “C’mon, Aziraphale, go down to the pool? For me? I promise you won’t have to swim, we can just talk the entire time and you can tell me all about your favorite books.”

Aziraphale considered this. He _did_ love talking about his books. “Fine.”

Crowley smiled, and it was as if it had lit up the entire room.

 _Shit_ , Aziraphale thought, _I’m screwed._


	2. Season 9, Episode 1 cont. — Poolside Shenanigans

Aziraphale made his way outside, scanning the poolside area. Dearth, a tall, gaunt, and deathly pale man, with long, black robes that swished while he walked, sat near the bar, brooding. Quite frankly, he was the human embodiment of the Grim Reaper, not that Aziraphale would ever tell him that. Something about the man unnerved him. 

Next to Dearth sat Polly, her unnaturally silver eyes trained on the chocolate bar she was messily consuming. Without hesitation, she tossed the wrapper aside, where it promptly fell into the pool.

“Now, really?” Aziraphale exclaimed, affronted. He was of the belief that littering was wrong, yet Polly seemed to have no problem spewing trash wherever she went.

“Guess we know who the messy one is,” Crowley observed. Aziraphale jumped. He had forgotten the redhead was in such close proximity to him. “Oh, sorry, Aziraphale, did I scare you?” He paused. “Aziraphale. A...zira… phale. Your name is a mouthful! Got a nickname?”

“I suppose Zira is fine.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Nah, Zira doesn’t suit you.” He sighed. “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to get to know you better to come up with a nickname. Tempt you to a drink?”

Aziraphale looked wistfully at the bar, about to say yes, when he noticed Gabriel, Michaela, Uriel, and Sandy giving him disapproving glares. He didn’t know why he cared so much about their opinion, but… he _did_. Besides, he would rather everyone like him. “No, you go ahead, I’ll just get some water.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Crowley sauntered away, his hips swishing in a way that made Aziraphale want to melt to the ground.

 _“Get a hold of yourself!”_ he thought, chastising himself, “ _You’re here to find your perfect match, not have a frivolous affair with a gorgeous man!”_

“Penny for your thoughts?” Crowley asked, two glasses in hand. He set the water in front of Aziraphale before taking a long sip of his cocktail. 

“Oh, thank you for the water, dear. I’m not really thinking about anything, just… observing, I suppose.”

“Hmm. Observing. That’s always a good thing. Did you know that owls are some of the most observational creatures ever?”

Aziraphale looked at the redhead questioningly. “Observational? Is that… even a word? And why owls?”

Crowley motioned widely. “Just look at their eyes. Huge. And their heads, so big. They gotta have big brains.”

The blonde considered this. “I suppose you’re right.”

Crowley guzzled down another cocktail that seemed to have magically appeared. “I’m always right,” he teased.

As the night went on, Crowley got progressively more drunk, but Aziraphale didn’t care. He had never met someone who he could connect with in such a way. Even though they were talking about idiotic things such as the brainpower of owls or whether a gorilla would notice if the world ended, he still couldn’t help but feel at ease. He almost forgot that anyone else was there. 

Almost.

Despite the very present distraction, Aziraphale could still feel the stares of the ‘judgy quadruple’, as Crowley had so graciously dubbed them. Gabriel, Michaela, Uriel, and Sandy had spent the entire night making passive aggressive comments about the rest of the cast. Gabriel was the most guilty of this, of course, but the other three definitely weren’t above acting catty either.

“Gabriel, now, he’s a wanker!” Crowley slurred, already on his fourth Bloody Mary (not to mention the shots of tequila he took earlier). “Ju- just look at him. Making all those rude comments. I betcha he and Michaela are a perfect match. Or- or maybe Uriel. Hmmm.” 

Aziraphale paled. He had completely forgotten he was on the show! Instead of mingling with the ladies, he had spent hours talking to Crowley! Not that he minded, of course, Crowley was wonderful, but tomorrow marked the first challenge, and the first date. He needed to find someone to talk to—someone who _wasn’t_ Crowley. Anathema seemed like his best bet, but when he looked around, she was nowhere in sight. “Do you know where Anathema is?”

“Uhhhhh… no,” Crowley squinted, counting something. “Isn’t there supposed to be seven other men besides me? I only count six….”

Aziraphale gasped, noticing the same thing. Anathema was gone… and so was Newton, the nerdy, awkward Brit. “You don’t think they-”

“Are in the Boom Boom Room?” the redhead interrupted, a mischievous smile blooming on his face. “Shall we go check?”

The blonde hesitated, not wanting to catch them in a rather rude position. Then again, why not? Catching them in the act would probably be good for ratings, anyway. “Lead the way.”

Crowley giddily grabbed his hand, causing Aziraphale’s face to redden. They made their way outside, where they noticed the door to the Boom Boom Room was locked.

“D’ya think I should knock?” Crowley asked, grinning.

“Well, I- I suppose you could…” Aziraphale reasoned. Taking that as a yes, Crowley began to pound on the door, which opened with a jolt. Anathema stood before them, hand on her hips and covered in nothing but a sheet.

“What?” she asked, obviously annoyed. Crowley tipped back his head and began to laugh.

“So, it’s true. You and Newt are getting it on?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, we are, and we’d like some privacy. Bye now.” She slammed the door in his face.

“Well. That was certainly something,” Aziraphale observed.

“Ooh yesssssss. I wouldn’t have put them together, but, ya know, whatever makes them happy I guess.” The redhead swayed on his feet, still a bit drunk. “A- azira- zira… I’m gonna go to bed. Wanna come?”

Aziraphale looked down at his shoes. Crowley was obviously drunk and didn’t know what he was implying. “I’m not much of a sleeper, really. I only sleep for around five hours nightly.”

Crowley dragged him to the bedroom, which contained sixteen mattresses. “C’mon, we need to get the best spot anyway. I definitely don’t wanna be sleeping next to the judgy quadruple.” He plopped down on one right next to the wall. “Here, come, sleep next to me.”

Aziraphale hesitated. Of course he _wanted_ to, but… it wasn’t allowed! He couldn’t possibly break the rules.

Though, he supposed they weren’t _technically_ sharing a bed. It wasn’t his fault the two mattresses were so close together. Really, it was the producers’ fault. “Fine, you wiley man,” he said, lying down on his mattress. “But only for tonight.”

Crowley smiled before turning off the lights. “Whatever you say, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any predictions on who Aziraphale’s perfect match is?


	3. Season 9, Episode 2 — The First Challenge

The next day, Aziraphale woke up bright and early, as he was wont to do, and noticed something quite peculiar. It seemed that throughout the night, he and Crowley had inched closer, to the point where if he moved even the slightest bit, Crowley would probably feel it. Aziraphale couldn’t help but relish in the feel of Crowley’s arm tucked against his side. Somehow, the redhead had gotten even more attractive. 

Ignoring the pounding in his chest, the blonde scanned the room, looking for any other early risers. He realized that Anathema and Newt weren’t in the shared sleeping space—probably because they had fallen asleep in the vast king sized bed in the Boom Boom Room—but the judgy quadruple was very much awake. Well, Uriel, Michaela, and Gabriel were. Sandy was still snoring away.

“Oh, you three also wake up early?” Aziraphale asked, trying to make small talk. Gabriel simply looked at him with disdain. Aziraphale was confused at first, but remembered the compromising position he was in. “We- um, we didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. We’re just friends-”

“Aziraphale, we saw the way you looked at him last night,” Michaela interrupted, her voice comforting… but with a tinge of maliciousness. “It isn’t good to lie.”

Uriel smiled malevolently. “Just make sure your  _ boyfriend _ doesn’t go near us. We don’t like alcoholics.”

“Aziraphale, truly, we’re just looking out for you. We don’t want you hanging out with the wrong kinds of people,” Gabriel explained with the air of someone who, in fact, could care less.    
  
Instead of a response, Aziraphale crumpled, burying his face in his hands. He was angry that they were insulting Crowley when they hadn’t even bothered to make conversation with him, but he couldn’t help but think they were right. What if Crowley was a bad influence? He wasn’t even supposed to be consorting with another man, not on a heterosexual dating show!  


“Unnngggghhhh,” groaned someone from underneath the bed sheets. Aziraphale whipped his head around. He had woken Crowley up by mistake, and by the looks of it, he was extremely hungover. “What time is it?”

“Oh, my dear, sorry to wake you. It’s 6:00,” Aziraphale responded, checking his pocket watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gabriel, Michaela, and Uriel shake their heads in faux-concern before leaving the room to get ready for the day. 

“You wake up  _ way  _ too early,” the redhead whined. “Whatever. Guess I’ll… make a hangover remedy or something.”

Aziraphale sat up fully, his posture stiff. “Yes. Um. Good idea.”

Crowley looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t you coming?”

The blonde averted his eyes. “Better not. We don’t want the producers to get the wrong idea, after all.”

Hurt flashed across Crowley’s features, and Aziraphale almost took his statement back, but it was gone so quickly that he wondered if he was just imagining things. “You’re right. I guess I’ll see you during the challenge then?”

Aziraphale nodded, willing himself to keep his face neutral. “Of course, dear. See you then!”

The next few hours before the challenge were quite uneventful. Aziraphale took the time to strike up a conversation with Hastur, a white-haired woman whose sole interests were apparently murder and herpatology, more specifically frogs. She was quite strange, and Aziraphale found he didn’t like her that much. The other person he talked to, Wanda, or War as she liked to be called, flirted with him almost immediately. However, her flirting style consisted more of threats rather than pick-up lines. Aziraphale found himself wishing he could be talking to Crowley instead, but quickly buried those feelings before they became something more.

Finally, at 9:30, Terrence entered the mansion. “Hello everyone! Enjoying yourselves so far?” Raucous cheers erupted, and Terrence smiled. “Well good, because today is the first challenge. There are three parts, and three winners. One of them is brawns, which is an obstacle course. Whoever finishes first gets to choose someone to go on a date with them. The next challenge is brains, which is trivia. Again, whoever wins gets to choose a partner. Finally, there is beauty. Each contestant will rank each other on a scale from 1-10, anonymously, of course, and whoever wins will also be going on a date with their chosen person.”

Aziraphale mulled over Terrence’s words, trying to determine what he would be best at. Due to his profession as a bookseller (well, bookshop owner… he wouldn’t exactly be considered a ‘seller’), he had a lot of obscure knowledge, which might be helpful for trivia. However, he didn’t know who he would take on the date. He hadn’t connected with  _ anyone _ , save for Crowley, but that wasn’t an option.

Terrence cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention once again. “Okay, with all the boring stuff out of the way, let’s get racing! Everyone, follow me.” He led the group outside, where a daunting obstacle course awaited. The producers lined up the cast at the starting line, and Aziraphale ended up next to Crowley, who gave him a small wave. Despite his better judgement, the blonde waved back, much to the chagrin of the judgy quadruple, who glared at him.

All of a sudden, an air horn sounded, and the race was on. Aziraphale knew he wasn’t going to win, not against Gabriel who looked to be in peak physical condition, but he sure as Heaven wasn’t going to get last place, either. As he dodged the many obstacles, he snuck a glance at Crowley, and was shocked at how flexible he was. It was as if the redhead didn’t even have a spine!

To no one’s surprise, Gabriel finished first, though Aziraphale was proud to have gotten fourth.

“Who do you want to take on your date?” Terrence asked, patting him on the back. Gabriel recoiled in poorly-disguised disgust before composing himself.

“Well, as I’m sure many of you noticed, I’ve connected with two wonderful women, and it is just so hard to choose between-”

Crowley sighed loudly. “No one cares, Gabe. Just tell us who you’re taking.”

Not even acknowledging the redhead, Gabriel turned to Aziraphale, giving him an ‘I told you so’ look. The blonde looked away, embarrassed. Maybe Crowley was a bad influence after all. 

“Fine. I choose Uriel,” he announced after a lengthy pause, holding out his hand. Uriel glared at him icily, but took it anyway.

“Great! And remember, once we get the three couples, the rest of you are going to have to vote to send one of them into the Truth Booth. That is the only surefire way to tell if someone is a perfect match or not. If they turn out to be a perfect match, they will be removed from the house and taken to a luxurious honeymoon suite where they can spend some alone time,” Terrence explained. The cast nodded in acknowledgement, having heard this before from other seasons. “Okay, Gabriel and Uriel will be escorted to their date, and we shall continue with the brains part of the challenge.”

Aziraphale smiled, knowing he would be good at this portion of the challenge despite his reluctance to go on a date. The producers handed buzzers to the remaining fourteen contestants while Terrence got himself situated.

“There will be five questions, whoever buzzes first will get to answer. If they get it wrong, someone can steal. The person who has the most points at the end wins. Let’s get started. Question 1: Who was the writer of The Picture of Do-”

_ Bzzz!  _ “Oscar Wilde!” Aziraphale interrupted. Despite his sunglasses, the bookshop owner could tell Crowley was looking at him in surprise.

“Uhh… yeah, correct. One point for Aziraphale. Question 2: Where does the first documentation of beer come from?”

_ Bzzz! _ This time, Crowley spoke. “Ancient Egypt.” Aziraphale looked at him, silently questioning why he knew such an obscure piece of knowledge. The redhead shrugged. “What? I know my alcohol!”

“Yes, you do, one point for Crowley. Question 3: What marsupial has a remarkably similar fingerprint to humans?”

Aziraphale’s fingers were fastest. “Koala!” he exclaimed, remembering a book about a crime-committing koala. Of course, he was correct, and got another point.

“Question Four: There is a village called Hell in a European country, which is it?”

Almost instantaneously, Crowley had buzzed in. “Norway!” Apparently, Crowley also knew a lot about hell, because he was correct.

“Okay, this is a tie-breaker, so only Aziraphale or Crowley can answer,” Terrence ordered. Crowley grinned at Aziraphale, obviously enjoying the friendly competition. “Question 5: Name the 3 countries that don’t use the metric system.”

Both their fingers seemingly pressed the buzzers at the same time, but it turned out Aziraphale was faster. “The United States, Myanmar, and….” he hesitated, not knowing the last one. Blast, Crowley would steal the win from him!

“Liberia,” someone whispered in his ear. He recognized that deep British accent. Crowley, his competitor, was helping him win?

“And Liberia,” Aziraphale finished, looking at Crowley gratefully, only to see he had turned away. It seemed he didn’t want any acknowledgement.

Terrence smiled, glad the challenge was over. “So, Aziraphale, who’s the lucky lady?”

Aziraphale paled, scanning the seven eligible women he could choose. He found that none of them were even the slightest bit appealing. “Actually, I want to give my spot away.”

“You WOT?!” Crowley exclaimed, incredulous.

“Yes, you heard me. I want to give it away. To Anathema.”   


Terrence turned to the producers and directors, who shrugged. It seemed this move, while unconventional, was actually allowed. “Uh… okay… Anathema, who do you want to bring?”

“Newt!” she declared, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Terrence cringed. “Oookay, enough with the PDA. Just… go over there, there’s a limo waiting for you.” Anathema grinned and mouthed a thank you to Aziraphale.

“Wow, angel, you’re generous. Giving away your well-earned spot just like that,” Crowley observed, nudging the blonde.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Angel? ANGEL?! What in good heaven was Crowley doing?

Crowley seemed to realize what he had said too, because he quickly tried to backtrack. “Uh, sorry Aziraphale, I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , I just thought, well, you’re almost angelic. I mean you look like an angel, and you’re just as nice as one…” he trailed off, noticing Aziraphale’s flustered expression. “I should probably stop talking now.”

“No! No!” the blonde quickly clarified. “I suppose the term angel, in that context, isn’t so bad. But you’re just as nice, I mean you gave me the answer-”

Crowley immediately tensed up. “Nice? No, angel, I’m not nice. Nice is a four-letter word.  _ You’re  _ nice. I’m just… demonic.” 

Aziraphale agreed, not wanting to upset the redhead, but didn’t quite believe it. No matter what Gabriel, Michaela, Uriel, or even Crowley himself said… Aziraphale knew the man standing in front of him was truly a  _ good _ person. And that just wasn’t debatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to see your comments if you enjoyed!


	4. Season 9, Episode 2 cont.— The First Truth Booth Vote

“Everyone! Time for the final part of the challenge!” Terrence announced, beckoning the cast to a makeshift voting booth. “Each of you is going to rate your fellow contestants based on beauty alone from 1-10. Ignore their personality, because for this challenge, all we care about is what’s on the outside. And remember, be honest. We won’t share your scores with anyone… except for the viewers at home, that is. First up, Aziraphale. Take a good look at your castmates.”

The blonde stood up, scanning the crowd. His eyes lingered on Crowley’s lanky form, already knowing that the redhead was the most attractive. He _couldn’t_ rate him a 10, though, what if the producers got suspicious?

Eventually, after much consideration, he settled on giving Crowley a 9. Objectively, War was better-looking, so she deserved the 10… even if Aziraphale didn’t quite believe that himself.

Making his way out the booth, he caught Crowley waiting, staring at him through his sunglasses. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing, angel… just wondering what you gave yours truly! I bet you gave me a 10,” the redhead joked, not knowing just how correct he was.

“Oh, um, well… you wish!”

Crowley grinned before walking—well, sauntering—into the booth and pulling the curtain back dramatically. Aziraphale lingered behind, wanting desperately to see what Crowley rated his fellow contestants. He knew he would probably get a one—he wasn’t the most attractive person out there—but a small part of him wished that Crowley would give him a 10. It would never happen, of course, but a man could hope.

***

Finally, everyone cast their votes and the points were tallied. “In first place with a whopping 98 points,” Terrence announced, pausing for dramatic effect, “we have War!”

She smiled cockily. “Was that _really_ a surprise?” Walking forward, she scanned the men, dissecting them with her glare alone. It was quite disconcerting. “Oh, I choose Ligur for my date.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale noticed Hastur’s expression change from one of minor discontent to pure rage. It seemed she had a thing for Ligur, and War had sensed that. Leave it to War to live up to her nickname and start an argument.

Before Hastur could give War a piece of her mind, Terrence dragged the newest couple away. “Great! The rest of you have to vote on who you want to send to the truth booth. Will it be Anathema and Newt, Gabriel and Uriel, or War and Ligur? It’s up to you.” He waved goodbye, making his way to the door. “And remember, tomorrow we have our first matchup ceremony. See you then!”

After Terrence, along with most of the camera crew, left, Crowley turned to Aziraphale excitedly. “Now that they’re leaving us to film the dates, we can do basically whatever we want!”

Aziraphale frowned. “The producers are always watching. I don’t want to do anything I’m not supposed to.”

Crowley sighed, inching closer. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to break the law or anything. Just let loose a bit.”

The blonde looked wistfully at the fridge. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was nearly 3:00! Crowley noticed his stare. “How about I make you some food?”

“You cook?” Aziraphale asked, taken aback. Crowley didn’t exactly strike him as someone who could make food without burning it.

The redhead rubbed the back of his neck. “Ehh… I mean, I dabble in the culinary arts. I’m sure it’s not up to your standards or anything, but-”

“A homemade meal would be lovely!” Aziraphale interrupted, beaming. “I can even help you!”

Crowley smiled back. “Great!”

The two friends scoured the fridge, eventually coming upon some frozen crepes. They weren’t exactly restaurant quality, but they would do. Besides, Aziraphale had always loved crepes. In another life, he would’ve loved to try authentic French ones from the 1800s. He had heard crepes in that time were to _die_ for.

“What’re you thinking about, angel?” Crowley asked as he took the box of crepes from the freezer.

“How much I love food,” Aziraphale confessed. Crowley laughed.

“Well you’re in luck, we only need a few minutes until they’re ready.” 

True to his word, after fifteen minutes, the crepes were perfectly heated. After a generous dollop of whipped cream and a handful of freshly cut strawberries, Aziraphale dug in. He couldn’t help the small moan that escaped from his lips as he savored the treat. Crowley raised his eyebrows and got noticeably redder.

“Uh, angel…” he mumbled, scratching his neck, “you’re… uh… you’re really enjoying them.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly. “Why yes, my dear boy. Oh! Did you want some?” The redhead stared wide eyed at him, and Aziraphale took that as a yes. He punctured a small piece with his fork and raised it up to Crowley’s mouth, leaning in closer.

Crowley looked at it for a second before lunging forward and swallowing the cream-covered crepe in one large bite. The sweet, airy texture of the crepe paired with the cold, refreshing cream made for a delectable treat. “Wow angel. That’s really good!” he said, though Aziraphale wasn’t really paying attention. How could he, when Crowley’s lips were right there, inches away from his face? As if an invisible force was pushing them closer, they both leaned in… but then without warning, Aziraphale stood up, knocking his chair down. What was he thinking? He and Crowley couldn’t _kiss_. It was unheard of. Ghastly. Not at all proper. He turned away from the table they were sitting at, wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

“Wait, angel! Don’t go. I- I didn’t mean to… well, I _did_ mean to, but-” Crowley stuttered, desperate. He followed Aziraphale and tried to grab his hand, but was shrugged off.

“No, Crowley. We’re on different sides.”

Crowley pulled back, looking at the blonde incredulously. “Sides? There’s no sides! We’re all a team here.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You know what I mean. We _can’t_ possibly kiss.”

“And why not?”

“Because we’re on a STRAIGHT DATING SHOW!” he practically screamed. 

Crowley glared at him, crossing his arms. “Fine. It’s only been two days anyway. I’m sure you can’t _wait_ to find your perfect match.”

Aziraphale started to walk away, pouting all the while, but then hesitated. “I hope we can still be friends. I like conversing with you,” he admitted.

Crowley’s rough and defensive exterior crumbled. “Of course we’ll still be friends. I just… I wish we didn’t meet on this show. Maybe then things would be different.”

Aziraphale looked at him longingly before turning away. They had only known each other for a bit more than 24 hours, he _shouldn’t_ be feeling this attached. Then again, in a house full of strangers, Crowley was the only one who he could have a decent conversation with. Anathema and Newt were nice, he supposed, but Crowley understood him in a way they couldn’t. What was he to do now?

***

Two hours of casual socialization with other house members later (he had tried to strike up a conversation with Bee, who immediately screamed at him, so he opted to make awkward small talk with Michaela and Sandy instead), Aziraphale realized he hadn’t cast his vote for the truth booth yet. He made his way to the living room where Hastur stood in front of the voting screen, guarding it. She scowled when Aziraphale approached.

“Excuse me, dear girl, but I have to cast my vote,” Aziraphale said as politely as possible. Hastur didn’t budge, and somehow managed to scowl more.

“You’re going to vote for Ligur and War,” she ordered.

“What makes you say that?”

Hastur smiled evilly, showing off all her teeth. They looked eerily like fangs. “Because I have to prove to that red headed BITCH that she and my man aren’t a perfect match. And if you _don’t_ vote for them, I’ll beat you up. Trust me, I can take you.”

Aziraphale highly doubted she would beat him in a fight—after all, while he didn’t exactly look it, he had been trained in combat—but he knew that Hastur had likely strong armed everyone _else_ into voting for the couple as well, so his vote wouldn’t do anything. Besides, even though he suspected Anathema and Newt were a perfect match, he didn’t want them to leave the mansion so soon! He clicked the image of War’s grinning face and Ligur’s scowling one and the screen registered his vote.

“Finally! The last person has voted!” someone exclaimed. Aziraphale turned to look and found Terrence J—and everyone who had gone on a date—standing at the door of the mansion. Anathema and Newt were holding hands, a goofy smile on both their faces, which warmed Aziraphale’s heart. He just knew that they were destined to be together. Next to them, War was standing possessively in front of Ligur, effectively blocking Hastur’s view of him. Meanwhile, Gabriel and Uriel were noticeably closer than before. In fact, Uriel was actually smiling for once, her golden lipstick accentuating her perfectly white teeth.

A producer handed Terrence an immaculate pink envelope. He opened it and smiled. “The couple who is going into the truth booth is… War and Ligur!” 

Everyone rolled their eyes, already expecting this, except Hastur, who beamed. “That’ll show you!”

War glared icily at Hastur. “Oh, sweetie. You don’t even wanna know what we did on our date. No matter what that truth booth says, your relationship is _done_ for.” She cackled before grabbing Ligur’s hand and dragging him outside. All of a sudden, the screen that Aziraphale had just voted on flickered to life, showing a live feed of War and Ligur in the Truth Booth. Just like in previous seasons, the Truth Booth was a hut-looking structure. Inside, there were white walls and a touchpad in the middle.

“War and Ligur will now put their hands on the touchpad, locking them in. The Truth Booth’s censors will then scan them and tell us whether they are a perfect match or not. If they are, they leave the mansion and get to spend some alone time in a luxury suite,” Terrence explained. Azirphale felt the locking in thing was a bit idiotic, but Are You The One was known for its strange practices, so he didn’t question it. 

Everyone stared intently at the screen as War and Ligur lowered their hands. Immediately, bright lights started flashing, and a red scanner went up and down their bodies. Then it stopped. The screen turned black and 3 words popped out. They said...

**  
TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO FIND OUT IF THEY ARE A PERFECT MATCH OR NOT**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I don’t know if anyone is reading anymore but I wrote an extra long chapter to try and compensate for the long hiatus!


End file.
